


Living Ain't Easy with Eyes Closed

by Dawnwind



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:40:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Doyle see what is right in front of him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Ain't Easy with Eyes Closed

Doyle awoke with the thundering explosion blocking out all other sound. He hurt everywhere. Intense heat was blistering the skin on his arms and he jerked back, afraid. 

Where was he? Why couldn’t he move?

He jerked again, discovering even more pain in forgotten parts of his body, but he didn’t care. Had to get out of here!

He heaved up to his knees, belly churning, facing the worst of the inferno. The fire seemed to be searing his flesh from his bones, the snap and crackle of the burning building loud enough to penetrate whatever was stuffed in his ears, but…

He couldn’t see. _He couldn’t see!_

“Bo…” He’d barely pursed his lips to form the B when a hand clasped his upper arm.  
Doyle was vaguely aware of debris tumbling around him, his only focus the strong grip holding him up. He was yanked away so quickly his feet barely touched the pavement.

 _Bodie._ He didn’t have to see to know his partner.

The undulating tones of sirens added to the cacophony, screams and voices yelling words Doyle couldn’t make out. His ears were solidly plugged.

Bodie settled Doyle on a kerb from the feel of it, but Doyle wasn’t reassured. His head was pounding as if he had his own personal punk rock band, his heart thudding in a rapid but not quite synced beat. The worst was his vision: he was still blind. 

_Almost._

He opened his eyes wide, straining to see. A confusing parade of jagged patterns and overly bright flashes were all that remained of his sight. Pain lanced his skull whenever he blinked or tried to focus on the man in front of him. Bodie was standing so close that Doyle could smell the leather of his jacket and the familiar scent of his sweat overlaid with the acrid odour of smoke. 

“Oi!” Bodie shouted into his ear, brushing gentle finger across his cheek. “Singed but nothing…”

“I can’t see!” Doyle whispered, trying to submerge the panic, the fear. He touched his eyes—still there, and he could vaguely glimpse the shadow of his own hand. His eyes were streaming with tears, his eyelashes clutching at each other every time he blinked. Which hurt.

“Got the flask of tea,” Bodie said, pushing down on his questing hands. “It’s gone cold. You fell in…”

Doyle sucked in air when the cool bergamot scented liquid splashed over his eyes, sluicing some of the muck from his face. His vision cleared, partially, helping to bring his heart rate down to double digits. He blinked rapidly, grit scratching his eyelids and sending shards of pain into his brain.

“Stop blinking for God’s sake,” Bodie muttered, touching his cheek again, and covering Doyle’s right eye with his fingers. “Open the left one, slow.”

Doyle followed orders, tentatively testing his returning sight. Bodie was blurry but visible. He almost managed a smile. “What the hell hap…”

“Antique store went up like a Guy Fawkes bonfire.” Bodie grimaced at him, his blue eyes comically bright when surrounded by a mask of dirt and soot. “You were closer, went nose first into the roses planted by the front door.” He hitched a breath that caught at Doyle’s heart. “Got dirt, rocks in your eyes—and a few second degree burns elsewhere.” 

If Doyle’s hearing had been better, he would have sworn Bodie was close to crying. But that couldn’t be.

“Joseph Ratsmeyer,” Doyle recalled finally, taking over the duty of covering his right eye with the flat of his hand. As long as he kept that one closed, he could see a fuzzy world backlit with the flames from the burning shop. “Suspected Nazi concentration camp guard.” 

“At least your memory’s intact. Looks like Ratsmeyer got what he deserved.” He leaned his forehead against Doyle’s, his hand sliding around to cradle the curve of bone under Doyle’s curls.

 _Incinerated like his former victims?_

“Anyone else hurt?” Doyle asked, grateful of Bodie’s hand on the back of his neck.

“Looks like you were the lucky one,” Bodie said, any trace of tears gone from his voice. He had that mocking, I’m-hiding-something tone that Doyle recognized far more easily. “It’s A&E for you, sunshine,” Bodie added.

Wearily putting out a hand, Doyle let Bodie haul him to his feet. As long as he could see Bodie, he would live. 

FIN


End file.
